


In Search of White Asters

by dev_chieftain



Category: Dragon Age 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-24
Updated: 2011-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dev_chieftain/pseuds/dev_chieftain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Started with a drabble (er, sort of drabble) on the dragon_age community for the prompt 'grown up'. Aveline's daughter, now thirteen, receives a mysterious letter from her absentee 'Uncle', the Champion of Kirkwall. With the help of certain family friends, she goes to meet him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Search of White Asters

For her thirteenth birthday, her mother gives her a suit of armor (to which she rolls her eyes, says thank you, and when mother isn't looking, curls her lip in irritation). Her father gives her a book, and in the book is a sealed letter, and when she looks up to ask him if this is for her, he puts a finger to his lips.

It's kind of comical how childish and strange her parents are, but she sighs, acceding to the age-old signal for _shush! your mother will have us arrested for this conspiracy!_ Ah, the joys of being the Guard Captain of Kirkwall's daughter. They have dinner, and then mother is off to patrol, while father helps with the dishes. Of course, since it's her thirteenth birthday, she doesn't get to get out of doing the dishes (nor did she last year).

But then, when it's a little later, he says to her in what he probably thinks is a subtle aside, "Did you see those Chantry Seekers coming through? Haven't been back here for seven years."

"Still looking for the elusive Champion of Kirkwall, I imagine," she sighs, frowning at her rag and her dressy clothes. The Champion of Kirkwall, whom her mother used to be _friends with_ , but never talks about. Who is, if father is to be believed (and maybe he isn't really), responsible for her parents ever figuring out how to court each other.

No, really she _can_ believe that, her parents are incredibly poor at social interaction. She has occasionally wondered how they remain so-- so-- what's the word Uncle Varric used? Inept. Yes. Very inept.

But her father makes a non-committal noise, only saying gently, "Be sure and read your book in your room tonight. I think you'll like it." That is, she has to grant, about as subtle as father has ever been, and when they've finished dishes, fed the cat mother inexplicably took in two years back and started calling Blondie, and put away all salvageable leftovers, she takes her book and secret letter to her room.

By the light of a candle, she opens the letter and is startled, then confused when she is confronted not by her father's handwriting, but some brazen, sharp hand clearly belonging to someone who thinks they are Very Important.

 _My dearest niece,_ the letter begins, and she can't help a frown of disapproval. This is clearly not Varric's handwriting, though the book, on closer inspection, _is_. She glances through it, finds pictures of people she knows only from description, pictures of her mother and even one of her father, and several lifetimes worth of adventure, if she doesn't miss her guess. This is Uncle Varric's story of the Champion of Kirkwall, isn't it? Only this copy seems older than the ones she's seen for sale around the city before.

Well. She supposes in that case, perhaps she could continue the letter, at least see what it's about.

 _My dearest niece,_

 _Everyone must reach a time in life when they are, at last, grown. Even you. Though we've all fawned over you to your mother's extensive embarrassment, I'd like to think I have particular claim over you as your favorite Uncle, even if we will probably, upon your receipt of this letter, have never yet met. Maybe you will be interested in rectifying this grievous oversight? Even though I've been a terrible, naughty uncle who is not anywhere within sight of Kirkwall?_

 _I guess I don't expect that you will, hence this letter. Not much of import has happened since the story I'm sure Varric is telling you even now. Trust me, darling, he's editing out most of the bad things to make it seem nicer than it really was. Hopefully you're smart enough to see that. Especially since your mother is, well, your mother._

 _Anyway. Not trying to make trouble for you, just checking in. Didn't know what to get you for your nameday, as I've never had the pleasure of meeting you, but I'm sure you are brave and strong and quite attached to justice, like your dear parents. Easily the most boring people in Kirkwall, just so you know. Really, dreadfully boring. Forget that, I'm sure you're sick of the law, strength, and bravery. Even I got tired of it sometimes, haha, though your mother's likely gone on at length about my charming shortcomings. Letters aren't my strong suit, by the way, could you tell?_

 _Sod it. I just wanted to let you know, I'm proud of you and will always be proud of you. Not that you should brag about it, but you could technically say you know someone famous, or that someone famous knows you, or. Something. On the off-chance that you've heard my story, I'd like to say up front that Varric is a compulsive, brilliant liar, so your version probably makes me sound much more interesting than I actually am. Life can be funny like that._

 _I'd love to meet you someday, my darling, and tell you all the true parts myself. Someday soon, if you get my meaning._

 _-H, 9:79_

Her first impression of the Champion of Kirkwall is that he would surely be an annoying uncle, if he's this longwinded even in his letters. Then she can't help being amused by his attempt at sympathy regarding her incredibly stodgy parents.

And then she notes the date, and frowns at it. It's not really a real or proper date at all.

And then, she decodes the letter; against her better judgment, she hurries to Uncle Varric's expensive bar in Lowtown, even though she's past curfew and sneaking out on her birthday is probably a good way to get in serious trouble with her mother for being foolhardy beyond all reason. She bursts into the back rooms with no excuses, not even an invitation, forgetting to knock as she tries to impart her message.

"Uncle Varric! Are you free? Of course you're free, you're always free when I show up because you're afraid I'd tell mother you let me in here." She pauses, catching her breath and realizing that her Uncle is, in fact, not alone, though that second part doesn't sink in right away. "You do realize I'd get in trouble, too, right? I wouldn't..."

This stranger is terrifying, she realizes, with a sudden coldness in her blood as she notes that Varric is stroking his crossbow, an accessory he so rarely carries anymore. His visitor is foreign, cloaked, wielding a huge sword, and seems to--well-- _glow_ a little.

The room is still. She stares up at the strange man, then glances to Varric with one eyebrow raised, as if to ask him what's going on. He smiles beatifically and leaves her in the dark, which is infuriating, but not necessarily bad.

"Right. Well. I can see I've interrupted some kind of clandestine meeting of unsavory intent, I'll just- I'll tell you later, I guess," she finishes lamely. She's not afraid, exactly, because Varric could probably take anyone in a fight if he needed to, and she's not wholly useless herself. But she certainly doesn't want to blather _I think I got a secret message from the Champion!_ in front of this person. Who is. All weird and glowy.

A dark chuckle rumbles through the room, making her heart jump in fear before she realizes it's coming from the cloaked figure. He slides his cowl off and Varric slowly relaxes, even while she's left gawping at _white hair,_ and silver tattoos that she's heard described hundreds of times. "I presume Varric has something to do with your unusual vocabulary, miss Vallen."

Frowning at them both, she puts her hands on her hips in an aggressive posture she learned from her mother. Intimidating, open stance, confident. "I happen to like the finer literary arts, yes. And _you_ are Fenris, which means Uncle Varric is not, in fact, quite as much a liar as I thought."

At this, the elf-- oh yes, definitely the same man from her Uncle's stories-- has the grace to look mildly surprised. "At your service," he says, bowing to her. She laughs, embarrassed, and glances away when he looks at her again, clearly scrutinizing her, categorizing her.

"Also did you know it's my birthday and you didn't even send me a note or anything, Uncle? My heart was breaking. With boredom. You could at least have come play Diamondback." She gives Varric a _look_ , the sort she hopes make him Regret His Sins, but he grins, shrugs, and scratches the side of his magnificent nose. She's always rather liked his nose.

"I had business. Also, Fenris was in town, as you can now see. He hasn't been back here in-- oh, your whole life, I think. Things have changed, I've been keeping an eye on him so he doesn't get into any trouble or squat in any mansions that people are now living in." A problem, if the twinkle in Uncle Varric's eye is any indicator, about which he delights teasing Fenris. "But you came charging in like your hair was on fire, sweetheart. What's up?"

She shoots Fenris a very serious look of her own, trying to gauge how good he might be at keeping secrets. With his cowl down, he doesn't look half so threatening as he did when he was a shadow looming over her dwarfy Uncle. More like he's some clueless tourist visiting Kirkwall to see what it's like, in the City that Fell. But, a tourist who can probably keep his mouth shut, at least. Satisfied, she tells Varric cautiously, "I received a letter from your Champion of Kirkwall, actually."

Both Fenris and Uncle Varric lean forward, surprise plain as day on their faces. She stops, squawking indignantly,

" _Neither_ of you gets letters from him?!" Shaking her head, she grins to herself, savoring a brief selfish rush of pleasure that the Champion of Kirkwall, who was best friends with Varric and (if the stories are to be believed) Fenris has chosen to write to _her_. "Well, anyway, there's a message in it too about meeting him in the Anderfels in Solis. Or I've read too many of your stories, Uncle Varric, except the _date_ is all wrong."

Another of those dry chuckles, and Fenris sits down in one of Varric's incredibly uncomfortable stone chairs as if he's never met a chair he wasn't willing to look all proper in. She's a little surprised by his careful posture; she's used to slouching in those chairs, herself. "That answers that question," Fenris murmurs to her Uncle, who only nods, motioning for her to join them and share the letter.

She's torn by the desire to keep the letter to herself and the desire to have their input. But if she's meant to be 'grown up' now, then she's determined to act it. Though it's somehow disappointing to share the words she treasures as meant for only her, she gives them the letter, lets them read it, confirm the message she found, and confer. Really, the more she stands there, the more she feels she is just a messenger who has completed her duty by delivering the letter to them.

By the time Varric finally turns to her again, she has thoroughly convinced herself that the message wasn't really for her at all, but for Uncle Varric to dispense along his vast spy network at the elusive Champion's behest.

But then he says the best words ever. "So I'm thinking for your birthday present, how 'bout we charter a ship to get around to the Anderfels and go hiking? You ever been hiking in the Anderfels, sweetheart?"

She is beaming. She doesn't care. "Yes! No. I mean, I haven't been hiking there but yes, we should go."

"We'll have to leave pretty quick to make it by Solis, though," Varric mutters, turning back to his discussion with Fenris. It goes on so late into the night that she has to sit down in one of the chairs, sleeping there while she waits for them to finish working out the details. She hears the names thrown about; Isabela, who Fenris evidently can vouch for, who is nearby. The Prince of Starkhaven, and how to evade his attention while moving so openly. Merrill, the mysterious dalish mage her Uncle has always spoken of so fondly, whose very name seems to stir mild irritation in Fenris.

She falls asleep before they're done, dreaming excitedly of ships, sailing, and the faraway mountain ranges they will be trying to reach.


End file.
